


So Much For That

by chasing_the_sterek



Series: Coffee-Induced Ramblings Of A Modern-Day Da Vinci [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arc Reactor, Clint Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint has nightmares, Coffee Addict Tony Stark, Cuddling & Snuggling, Disney Movies, Domestic Avengers, Families of Choice, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I ignored AOU because (and i quote one of Starkid's best plays of all time here) I hate that movie, IT DOESN'T HAPPEN, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Laughter, M/M, No AOU, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Beta Read, Obie Wan Kenobi, Palladium Scars, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Platonic Cuddling, Poor Clint, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Probably Both, Protective Tony, Scars, So many tags, Sorry My Hand Slipped, Sorry Not Sorry, Star Wars - Freeform, Star Wars Intervention, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark UST, Tattooed Tony, Team as Family, The Avengers Ship It, They ship it so hard, Tony Can Parent, Tony Feels, Tony Has Tattoos, Tony Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony has nightmares, Tony has smile lines from laughing, Tony needs coffee like people need air to breathe, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, YOU MEAN BATTLE WOUNDS MY BRETHREN, a little bit of UST, a seriously concerning amount of hot chocolate, and in my personal opinion they got Tony all wrong, apparently that's not a tag, but only SOME, but so does Tony so it's okay, de-aged Clint, fight me, i mean it had some good parts, i'm not sure if i'm unsurprised or appalled, no civil war, so nah, they both need a hug okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-05-14 15:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5748985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasing_the_sterek/pseuds/chasing_the_sterek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint gets de-aged, and Tony turns out to be the best parent out of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One - Just The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This can absolutely be read as a stand-alone, but bear in mind it's the second instalment in a series so some of my personal headcanons might not make sense :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets handed over to Tony. Tony predicts that they'll both die in approximately two hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I procrastinated so hard on _A Handful Of Burns_ (my current GotG fic) I wrote a whole new story! Congrats, me. You've reached a whole new level.

"Uh, no," Natasha says firmly, placing two palms flat on Little Clint and pushing him away. "I don't do kids."

"He's your partner-in-crime!" Tony shouts incredulously from across the room. "Your other half, your cuddle buddy, your boyfriend. You two are the Spy Bros to Brucie and I's Science Bros. He's been turned into a kid. If anyone should deal with him, it's you."

"We didn't exactly plan for this," she informs him. She's still eyeing Clint carefully, like he's going to bite her. It probably isn't helping that he wails louder and louder the closer he gets.

Tony says, "I'm 57% sure that that plan, had you had one, would involve you looking after him."

Phil decides to chime in. "No, Clint values his life." He turns Clint around in his hold and raises an eyebrow expectantly at him. Tony wonders if maybe he thinks Clint is going to pipe down, say sorry for hurting everyone's eardrums, and then pinky-swear not to cause any trouble. "Natasha and kids really do not mix. Last time she held a child for five minutes alone she dropped it three times and almost dropped it another seven."

"In my own defense, I had broken ribs," Natasha points out, vaguely petulant. "I did better the time before."

Tony decides to gloss over that first bit. "Better for the amusement of your colleagues, or for the baby in question?"

"For the baby," Natasha deadpans. She shoots him the patented _don't mess with me I could remove your gall bladder with a clock_ look.

Tony half-grins. He loves that expression. Sometimes, if you look right, there's a begrudging respect for having the guts to tease her.

Stepping forward with a polite smile, Clint outstretched, Phil says, "So, logically -"

Tony hopes his face isn't paling like he thinks it is.

Natasha snickers: no dice.

"- if Natasha isn't going to do it, then the responsibility is yours, Tony."

He lifts his hands, tries for cheerful apology. "Uh, no thanks, I'm good. Maybe try Bruce?"

Phil's lips lift into a tiny smile. "Bruce can't do it, Clint might set off the Hulk," he says. "You know him better than we do, but even I could tell you that he's going to refuse on principle."

 _"I'm_ refusing on principle," Tony protests. He's completely ignored.

Natasha decides to join in. She ticks off on her fingers: "Steve's on a mission. Thor's on Asgard. I'm terrible with kids. Phil is too busy. Clint is, obviously, incapable of looking after himself."

They all startle when Clint speaks up. Tony hadn't even noticed he'd stopped crying. "L'be fine on my own," he says, voice not so much small as _heartbreakingly tiny._ "Won't be any trouble."

Phil sets Clint carefully on the floor when he squirms. Tony crouches to be on his level without thinking about it. "Buddy, it's not that we're doubting that. It's just that this place is dangerous, and you need supervision."

"What kind of dangerous?" Clint asks, after a long pause of staring at his bare feet. They'd managed to find a t-shirt and trousers for the kid from God-knows-where, but no shoes or socks.

"Explode-y dangerous, missile dangerous. Weapons dangerous," he supplies immediately. "Kids-need-supervision-sign dangerous."

Clint weighs this up. "Do I get to choose who?"

"Sure thing, kid," Tony says, brightening. Nat's gonna have to buck up her ideas about childcare -

Clint has finally tilted his head up to look at everyone. He's looking at Tony.

"You," he says, confirming all of Tony's greatest fears with one word. "You tell the truth. S'far s'I can tell, anyways."

Both of the spies in the room manage to somehow radiate smug without him even needing to look. Tony takes half a step backwards. "Me? But I'm . . . terrible with kids."

Clint's voice shifts back to tiny. "Sorry," he says. "Dunno what a Holk is, but. I pick him then."

Tony's been guilt-tripped before, he knows the deal. How to fake crocodile tears, or at the very least a crocodile expression - but Clint's face has turned that special kind of angry-frustrated-sad of a kid who's trying desperately not to cry, and as soon as he realises it's genuine he can feel his defenses start to melt.

He closes his eyes. "Alright."

///

Tony takes Clint down to his workshop. The kid is visibly excited, nearly vibrating as he looks over all the holoscreens, all the projects abandoned halfway, but reins himself in and sits twitching at Tony's side instead. The feeling of having someone sat next to him, entirely silent, reminds him too much of Stane looking at his work over his shoulder, and so after not even fifteen minutes of putting up with it thinking, he sighs. He is absolutely not paid enough for this.

"You can talk, you know," he mutters.

Clint's head comes up. His eyes are wide. "What?"

"The silence is making me itchy," Tony explains. The pen he's using to try and pry apart a fused circuit board snaps. "Just speak up if you wanna say something, squirt."

"Um. . . can I look at things?"

"Sure thing, kiddo. Jarvis'll tell you if you shouldn't touch something."

"Who's Jarvis?"

"Think of him as my best friend slash personal assistant slash robo-butler," Tony says.

"Oh." Clint absorbs that for a second. "But I can explore? I'm allowed to do things?"

"That depends on what you're gonna do, short stack."

Clint turns wide, imploring eyes on him, suddenly bold, and _damn,_ are they hard to resist. He doesn't know what the kid wants, but he wants to give it to him already. Those eyes should be weaponised.

"I jus' wanna explore," Clint pleads. "Tony, _pleeeaaaseeee?"_

Tony manages, somehow, to keep his stare-down impassive. He kind of wishes he were telepathic: Little Clint may be acting completely differently to how Tony would have expected - more subdued, for one, and that's not even mentioning the quiet, shaking insistence that he can take care of himself without bothering anyone - but a love for chaos and mayhem have always seemed to be at Clint's core, so much so that Tony isn't sure how far to trust this little kid with the killer doe eyes.

Clint stares back. He's still pulling the biggest, baddest puppy eyes the world has ever known.

"Fine," Tony caves, "but I'm staying with you at all times, and if you go running off and break something then you're taking the blame for collateral."

"Coll-at-er-ol," Clint sounds out with a little frown. "What's that mean? And I though Jar-fish was gonna be watching me?"

"It means. . . unintentional injuries or damages," Tony says. He'd forgotten that Clint was a kid. How do you explain the concept of collateral damage to a kid? "Like when you, uh. . ." Tony pauses, flails around for an example. "You ever break something you didn't mean to?"

Clint's eyes widen a little bit, dropping the puppy eyes. His expression is ashamed and scared. "I knocked over my Aunt Marge's bal'rina statue," he says softly, looking down. "I didn't mean to. It just - fell over - and, and I didn't know how to fix it, so I jus' left it. And, and m'brother got told off for it and it wasn't even his fault -"

God, Tony needs to stop this before the kid spills something Big Clint wouldn't want Tony to know.

"See, there you go," he says, nodding carefully. "That's collateral damage. You didn't mean for the ballerina statue" - had Clint said statue? He was more eloquent than most kids Tony had met, but he was still doing that slurring thing that all kids did, so Tony was only 84% sure he'd said statue - "over, and it was an accident. Collateral. You didn't mean it."

Clint's frozen. And then, very slightly, his bottom lip wobbles a tiny bit. He stares up at Tony again, but this time, instead of the Puppy Eyes Of Doom, they're swimming with tears.

Needless to say, Tony panics.

What did he _do?_ Did he accidentally trigger a panic attack or something? Did he unknowingly yank open an old wound -

Clint interrupts Tony's mental tirade (see: panic) by starting to cry.

Violently.

"Hey, hey, kiddo, what's wrong?" Tony asks as gently as he can when his mind's turned into a dangerous soup of _panic panic panic kids are crying and I don't know what I did where are the competent people here why is he crying panic panic panic_.

Clint doesn't answer, but he lifts up an arm and wipes his eyes roughly on his sleeve. He sniffs, nose making the noise all noses make when they're snotty after they've cried, and mumbles something that sounds heartbreakingly like _I didn't mean to, Daddy, I'm sorry, please don't hurt me, I'm sorry,_ which. . . what?

Tony wants to hit something. Was Clint _abused?_ Did his Dad (no, screw the capital letter, dads were a fairly sore subject on the team, they didn't deserve capital letters) hit him when he didn't deserve it?

Tony can't hit anything. There's a kid currently bawling his eyes out on his lap, and if he hits something it might trigger a small panic attack in the small Avenger (and _woah,_ there's a thought he never thought he'd think).

He takes a deep breath instead and then lets it out in a big puff that ruffles Clint's hair gently. He thinks back to his own childhood, where Howard never paid any attention expect to abuse him in mind and body and his mom loved him enough for the both of them but never had the time between charity events - trying to keep up the good press so Howard didn't have to - to express it in its entirety.

Tony wants to hit himself. Now is not the time for his own issues; it's Clint who's the priority here, not him, and so he thinks back to Jarvis. The original Jarvis, who stole him abandoned (but still perfectly usable) tools and materials so he could make whatever he'd designed that time, who came to every single school event when his mom was too busy and Howard had forgotten he even had a son (it was better that way, really), who used to envelop Tony in his arms when he cried and used to say _What's the matter, Tony? Hey, kid, you need to say something so I can fix it for you. Can't do anything if you keep shtum._

"C'mon, tell me what the matter is so I can fix it." Tony says, his version far less romantic and much more blunt. He's guilty for a second - would have been guilty for being too harsh on a Little Clint for far longer had he not wiped his nose on his (now noticeably wet) sleeve and watched Tony with awestruck eyes.

"S'nothin' wron'," Clint says, and Tony's known Big Clint long enough to understand that it's the truth. "S'jus'. . . yer th' on'y pers'n who b'lived me. S'nice."

Tony closes his eyes and tries to ignore the bad connotations linked with _you're the only person who believed me._

"Yeah?" He says instead of _gimme your parent's house number and watch this Disney film, I'll be back in however many hours it takes to get revenge_. "Must be a nice switch. I know it would be for me."

Clint's smile is wobbly. "R'ly?"

"Really," Tony confirms, a smile making the side of his mouth quirk upwards despite his anger. "Now, about that exploring thing. . ."  
**  
**@#£% &**&%£#@  
  
"Okay, aaaaaand. . . open!"

Tony swiftly removes his hand from where it was covering Clint's eyes and grins lopsidedly at the small gasp of amazement the former assassin lets out at the sight of his workshop.

"S' _mazin',"_ Clint blurts, then runs over to Dummy and says hello. He seems to be a mixture of surprised and ecstatic when the bot chirps cheerfully and moves its head in a nod of reply. He sprints over to You and then to Butterfingers and repeats the process for them, getting more and more excited each time as they bob their heads in enthusiastic greeting and chirp happily until he's practically vibrating with excitement.

"Toneeee," he whispers. "Toneeeee, they _m've."_

"Yu-huh," the inventor grins a little sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "They're AIs - short for Artificial Intelligence - and they're the first three bots I ever made."

"You built these, Toneeeee?" Clint says in pure awe before his attention's caught by a moving stimulation for an explosive arrow from the other side of the room and he goes sprinting off towards it.

Normally Tony would be irritated by the constant questions and the prodding and the poking and the constant running about when he was in his workshop, but somehow the fact that it's _Clint_ makes it a little better, and so does the fact that he's a _kid._

So he just walks up behind where Clint's staring at a handful of fully-functional, improved arrows, and says, "They're arrows, for this thing called archery."

"Wassat? Arc'ry?"

"It's a thing where. . ." Jarvis senses Tony's trouble and pulls up a hologram showing the definition of archery. ". . . where you have these things -"

"A'ows," Clint inputs, nodding.

"Arrows, yep, good job, buddy," Tony elbows Clint (gently!) in the side until he laughs. "And you have a bow, and basically you fire these arrows into a target and aim for the middle bit. The one who gets closest wins."

Clint's eyes are wide. He seems to be amazed by anything and everything (but it's not like Tony minds because now he gets to explain his Iron Man armour in a bit more detail without sounding like he's bragging and he gets to show Clint a couple of Jarvis' prototype lines of programming without worrying that the archer's going to steal his arrow prototypes when he's not looking).

"What?" Tony says when Clint just stares, mouth open, eyes darting between Tony and a demonstrative video of archery Jarvis helpfully pulled up a second ago. "Hey, kiddo, if your mouth stays hanging open like that you're going to catch flies."

That does it. Clint's mouth snaps shut so fast it makes an audible _clack._

"C'n I 'ave a go?" Clint breathes, eyes fixing on the video.

"I would be concerned for my awesome babysitting skills if I didn't let you," Tony says, and makes a holographic bow with a matching quiver containing infinite arrows so Clint can practice aiming on anything he wants without hurting or damaging it.  
**  
**@#£% &**&%£#@  
  
Tony doesn't know how it got to this point, and it's certainly awkward to get his head around, but he's currently making aeroplane noises with his arms out to either side, running around in circles as Clint shrieks and laughs from his position on Tony's back. The engineer can't help but laugh too in the face of the kid's happiness (young children's laughter is adorable, shut up), and while keeping his speech swear-free was a little bit difficult when he stubbed his toe on the coffee table, it's nice to spend time with someone who only judges him over how much fun he is and how much green stuff he forces Clint to eat.

Tony takes a deep breath and makes the loudest, longest aeroplane noise yet; Clint giggles uncontrollably in his ear and tugs on his hair, but somehow he can't find it in himself to care much.

"It's the Barton Bowman Aeroplane, coming in to land!" Tony yells, not even feeling ashamed for the name, speeding up and sprinting for the sofa before twirling a full five hundred and forty degrees and dumping a screaming miniaturised archer onto it with great aplomb.

Clint giggles again and pulls a couple of pillows over himself, effectively turning himself into a small, untidy mountain of cushions (with one tiny foot poking out of the bottom) that Tony would probably have completely overlooked had he not seen the kid turn himself into it.  
_  
"Tickle monster!"_ He yells instead of dwelling on why Clint has been able to hone his talent for hiding, and descends on the foot with an evil cackle.

The cushions fly across the room as Clint squeaks in surprise, kicking and squirming away from the engineer's fingers.

"Nooooo!" He laughs, attempting to fend off wiggling fingers and trying and failing at a scowl as Tony just snorts and goes in for a tickle again.

"C'mon, lighten up, kiddo," Tony announces loudly. "We need you to be all happy and smiley for the team when they come in a couple of hours."

Clint whines, excitement at the news of the incoming Avengers causing him to foolishly let his guard drop. "But I don' wanna be happy an' smileYAHAHAHAHA!"

Tony pauses. "Why don't you wanna be smiley and happy?"

Clint pants from underneath him, wide, wary eyes glued on Tony's hands. "'cause 'm trying to teach m'brother tha' feelings shouldn' be forced, an' I read inna libr'y tha' s'best t'lead b' example."

Tony sits back on his haunches and contemplates this. "Good point, well made, my good sir," he says eventually, tipping an imaginary hat in Clint's direction and smiling when the kid laughs.

The two sit in companionable silence for a little bit, Clint lounging on the sofa, obviously exhausted and taking up half of it, and Tony sitting with his back to it, legs outstretched in front of him and eyes on the chess game he's playing with Jarvis via hologram (it's the only way he ever gets any challenge - Bruce cheats shamelessly).

"Wassat?" Clint mutters curiously after a while, and Tony peers over his shoulder to see the brunet watching him play intently.

"It's a game called chess," Tony says, handing Clint the hologram (well, it's more sliding it in Clint's general direction than handing it, but meh). "Wanna learn?"

"Yeah," Clint says, and Tony hops up onto the couch so he can teach him.  
**  
**@#£% &**&%£#@  
  
An hour passes by pretty quickly when you're focused on something, and then that one hour bleeds into a second, and so on. It's something Tony discovered when he was really little and (the original) Jarvis would give him cooking lessons - he had about two hours of cooking from when he got home at the end of school to when Howard usually arrived home, and they always seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. Nowadays, it's time spent in his workshop - he goes down to bang out a dent in the Iron Man armour (a simple job even when he has to be careful with circuitry and stuff, should take about an hour) and suddenly it's been five days of no sleep and minimal food (no food at all if coffee doesn't count) and no sunlight and the press are wondering if he's dead and he's looking at the beginning schematics of a project he's forgotten the main idea for.

But with a kid. . .

With a kid, apparently it's even worse.

Before he knows it, Tony's procured some Play-Doh and a small box of Lego from Dummy's weird collection of stuff (seriously, where did half of that even come from - there's one of Tony's wrenches and a half-finished Widow's Bite for Nat and a couple of baby animal photos) next to his charging station, he's unearthed the Lego figures of the Avengers (in costumes and civvie clothes both), there's a mass of sand spread on the carpet, and him and Clint are playing Avengers At The Beach and creating weird nicknames for everyone as they go.

"And so Steve -"

"Stevie-Bear." Clint corrects seriously for the thousandth time.

Tony makes an overdramatic apologetic face and corrects himself. "Stevie-Bear says -"

The elevator doors swish open smoothly.

"Captain Rogers, sir." Jarvis informs him with no small degree of amusement in his voice. Tony can see why - seriously, what are the odds?

"There you are," Steve says in relief, blond hair tousled from what looks like mildly panicked fingers being run through it multiple times. "I've been looking all over for you two."

"Speak of the devil," Tony says with a flourish, "and he shall appear!"

"M'mama used t'say that that's a bad thing t'say," Clint says, his voice somber.

"What?" Steve says, obviously not understanding what Clint just said - probably mostly due to a mix of the thick toddler slur and his recent mission keeping him in Soldier Mode.

"Sorry, kiddo," Tony says, ignoring Steve. "Guess we're stuck with seven years of bad luck, then."

Clint falls for it, gasping in shock. "S'ven _years?_ Tha's older'n me!"

Tony smiles (again - how many times can you smile in one day?). "If you cross your fingers and lay that hand over your heart then you're protected and you won't have to deal with the whole seven years of bad luck shebang."

Both Clint and Tony immediately cross their fingers and lay them over their hearts (in perfect unison, hell yeah). The two share a grin and a high five with their not-crossed fingered hands when they realise.

Steve, by this point, has been completely forgotten about, so he makes them both jump when he steps forward to say something. Tony's actually insanely curious about what it was, because before even the first letter comes out of the supersoldier's mouth he spots all of the sand and the twelve Lego people sitting among a scattering of Lego bricks and a random splodge of swampy green Play-Doh on a brown stick that's meant to be a tree, and says, "Woah, what _happened?"_

Tony glances down. The whole scene _does_ look pretty ridiculous - he's pretty sure the sand's going to have embedded itself into the floor by now, even though there are barely any cracks to embed itself in, and there's Play-Doh scattered everywhere. It looks like the lovechild of a bombsite and the destruction following a back-to-back hurricane and storm.

"We may have got a little carried away," Tony admits.

"A little?" Steve says incredulously, but now that the initial shock is gone there's a glimmer of amusement in his blue eyes (and exasperation and fondness, but if Tony goes into analyzing those bits then he's going to torture himself with things that would never be). "Tony, you do realise that you've found half a dozen kilos of sand and dumped them all on the floor so you can play house, right?"

"Nooo," Clint says, making Steve jump a teensy bit. It's more of a twitch, but Tony catches it anyway. "S'not house. S' _beach."_

Steve looks understandably (or under _sand_ ably, ha ha get it?) confused.

Tony decides to take pity on him. "We're not playing house. We're playing beach. With little Lego Avengers. It's fun. You should join."

Steve runs a hand through his hair. Tony notices for the first time the dark circles under the supersoldier's eyes and the way Steve's holding himself - it just screams I have pushed myself beyond all limits and I'm ready to sleep now I don't care if it's on top of a hundred spikes I fully intend to rest for a week at least.

Steve opens his mouth to speak, bringing Tony out of his thoughts just in time to hear: "I . . . sorry. I don't deal well with kids."

The _when I'm tired_ goes unspoken.

"Get some sleep, Rogers," he says, more serious than Clint was a second ago, staring at Steve intently to make sure he's going to comply. "Thor knows it looks like you need it."

Steve's mouth curves into a smile at the use of the thunder god's name. "And isn't that a strange and vaguely hypocritical request, coming from you," he says, and Tony would tell him that it wasn't a request but he's already trudging to the elevator with a lazy wave back over his shoulder. "See ya, Clint. Sorry I'm kinda crabby at the moment."

The two brunets watch Steve go quietly with identical worried expressions, both cataloguing the way he's listing a little bit to starboard in his tiredness and the relieved look in the face of sleep to come.

Clint's head swivels until surprisingly intense eyes are on Tony's brown ones.

"Toneeee," Clint whispers, "is Capt'n 'm'rica okay?"

"Yeah," Tony says, pulling the miniaturised archer into his side for a cuddle. "Yeah, he should be just fine."

They watch the closed elevator doors together silently until Clint falls asleep.  
**  
**@#£% &**&%£#@  
  
Tony doesn't know what to do in this situation (it's not like anybody's ever made him sit through parenting lessons or tutorials), so he devoutly avoids what Howard used to do - _drinkhitsmokelaughteasebullyaggressivedangerdangerdanger_ \- and rules out the things common sense tells him not to do - _don't drop Clint if you're holding him_ \- and figures that so long as he works within those parameters he can't go too wrong.

"Okie dokey, kiddo, I think it's bedtime," he announces, standing and clapping his hands with an air of finality.

"Noooo," Clint complains, looking honestly scandalised. "Early bedtimes'r for _littl'_ boys!"

"Nu-uh," Tony frowns.

"Yu-huh," Clint says, crossing his arms, scrunching his eyes shut, and huffing loudly. "S'a rule."

"Nu-uh," Tony insists. "I go to bed when it's early too." _If you count early as three am after a week-long working binge._

Little Clint opens one eye. "R'ly?"

"Yeah," Tony hums. "In fact, since I'm pretty tired too, I though we could get ready for bed together, but since bedtime's for little boys I guess -"

Clint practically hurdles the sofa in his enthusiasm. "Nuh!" He shouts. "Nuh, nuh, nuh! We c'n do it togeth'r, Toneeee, we c'n get ready for bed togeth'r an' slee' togeth'r -"

"Sleep together?" Tony asks, laughing softly but not unkindly. "C'mon, squirt, while the offer is obviously always open you're gonna have your own room."

Is Clint paling a little bit? He can't be -

No.

Yes.

He's afraid of the dark.

 _Well then,_ Tony thinks.

"Clint," he says softly, "can I tell you a secret?"

The de-aged archer's head shoots up at the sound of his name. Tony hasn't really called him by it - it's been a lot of _squirt_ and _short stack_ and _kiddo_ s, but no _Clint_ s - so its use seems to make the kid automatically put the conversation into the _IMPORTANT!_ section of his brain.

"Yeah," Clint says with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"I don't like the dark. I have to have a nightlight."

Clint's eyes widen.  
__  
Bingo.  
  
"M'too," the child whispers.

Tony lets yet another smile adorn his face. "Wanna hear another secret?"

Clint shuffles impossibly closer with an eager expression and copious amounts of nodding.

"I've got one right here," Tony says, whispering too, and lifts up his hoodie (which is thick enough to have blocked most of the light) to show the bright, cheerful blue of the arc reactor.

Clint looks honestly stunned. Then:  
__  
"Woah. . ."  
  
Tony half-smiles.  
**  
**@#£% &**&%£#@  
  
He puts Clint to bed in one of the guest bedrooms on his floor. It's modest and simple, like all of the rest are, and Tony's made sure it's got a double so Clint is less likely to fall off during the night.

"S'this mine?" The kid asks, gazing around.

"It's yours," Tony agrees. "All yours."

"Coooool," the mini assassin mumbles, and jumps on the bed to explore it with a slightly muffled yell of "S'big!"

Tony leans against the doorframe and watches Clint slip off the bed to poke at everything in the room with a tiny smile. He's never really interacted with kids - sure, he's done the odd _kiss my child on the forehead in blessing o great ruler of all_ (okay, maybe not the great ruler of all part, but still), but he's never really spent time around them. He can't be super, 100% sure if he's doing okay or not.

Clint's running his hands all over everything, listing what and where each thing is with curious eyes and a quirked up mouth. He seems to be too tired to do much more than that, though, and it's not long before Tony's watching him clamber back into the bed. It dwarfs him - one little boy amongst a sea of soft white duvet - and while the image is definitely at least a little bit amusing Tony can barely find the energy to make a subtle hand motion for Jarvis to take a picture.

It's after that that Clint turns around and casts his gaze to where Tony's still hovering in the doorway, not sure if he's welcome any more.

"What?" Tony says, because Clint's expression has gone from curious to exasperated (how can kids his age be exasperated, seriously, it's not an emotion they're meant to be familiar with) to expectant within the last ten minutes.

"Are you g'na read me a bedtime st'ry?" The kid asks, and _damn,_ Tony hadn't thought about that. He dawdles in the doorway for a moment longer as he thinks over his options.

But all of the spare suites for friends and allies (neither of which include business partners, who have to either find a hotel or live in a cardboard box because Tony sure as all hell isn't going to let them live in his tower) have the Harry Potter series - amongst other novels - in them (a common courtesy), so Tony plucks _The Philosopher's Stone_ off of the shelf and places it carefully on Clint's bedside table as he tucks the mini archer in. He plonks himself onto the edge of Clint's (massive in comparison to the kid) bed unceremoniously and scoops up the book once he's sure both of them are comfortable.

Tony opens it to the first page.  
_  
"Mr and Mrs Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much,"_ he says, and they're both hooked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this actually interesting? I don't even know. I just wanted platonic Clint and Tony hugs and I saw the prompt and thought it was Meant To Be.
> 
> Sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, just to cover up any confusion, Steve and Tony aren't together (yet, muahahaha), but Tasha and Clint are (were?).


	2. Lazy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe Tony hadn't expected to spend half of his time being a surrogate parent to a de-aged Clint Barton snoozing for half a day on the sofa with animated movies playing in the background, but who said he was complaining?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True story: I have never had a cuddle pile before. Writing this chapter made me slightly sad.

Tony wakes up stiff and achy in a chair not designed for sleeping in with the first Harry Potter book lying on his chest. He blinks at the ceiling blearily for a moment before he remembers Clint - _de-aged, miniaturised, young, vulnerable_ \- and his eyes snap to the small lump in the middle of the bed.

The little breathing island is still completely dwarfed by the ocean of white duvet and cloud-like pillows, Tony notes, but he doesn't think much more after that because he suddenly realises that he hasn't had coffee yet and honestly, where are his priorities?  
 _  
With Little Clint,_ a voice in his head mutters, but Tony lets it be drowned out by the repeated mantra of _coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee_ and stumbles into his floor's small kitchen (the main kitchen, big enough for two of all of the Avengers, is on the common floor, but every Avenger's floor has a small kitchen in case they want to avoid humanity, so he's going there because frankly he doesn't trust Clint alone with some of the stuff on his floor, even if he's a kid).

He manages to get the coffee machine on, either via fumbling with it until he hit the right switch or one of Jarvis' kind, silent, morning blessings (okay, yes, Jarvis turns things on for him in the mornings sometimes), and he's just about to take a sip of the (probably too hot) sweet nectar of the gods when he hears soft feet padding along the corridor and Jarvis's quiet, accommodating British voice saying that _Mr Stark is just up here, in the room to your right, Master Barton._

Tony inhales half of his mug as he turns to the doorway to give himself the strength and courage to avoid saying _awwwww_ to what is probably the undoubtedly adorable image of a de-aged Clint in purple PJs with tiny golden labradors on them.

He discovers that the boost in strength was very much needed sooner than he expected, when Clint (seriously, _awwwwwwwwww,_ that's a photo moment right there and Tony doesn't deny it, a tiny shuffle of his feet indicating that he wants the moment preserved forever, whether it'll be used as something Tony will cry over when Clint dies (please don't be that option), something they both laugh over and everyone teases the archer for (much more preferable to the former option), or blackmail (best option, very much recommended, thanks)) basically staggers into Tony's kitchen area and blinks at his surroundings before doing a neat move and hooking his foot in the bottom rung of Tony's bar stools before pulling himself up.

"Sleep well, squirt?" Tony says easily, drinking some more of his coffee and starting up the machine again simultaneously because he's going to run out soon at the rate he's going.

Clint half-smiles. "Yeah, pr'ty well," he murmurs, "b't I got woken up wh'n y'left."

Tony tries to smother a wince. Damn. "Sorry."

A shrug. "S'fine. I don' mind. S'bett'r th'n what happens at home somet'mes, anyway."

Tony narrows his eyes infinitesimally. That's, what, the third or fourth time Clint's referenced to some bad things going on in his old (current?) home life in just twenty-four hours, and while the engineer is, by nature, insanely curious, he doesn't want to pry for fear of overstepping some line Big Clint doesn't want crossed. He already feels like he has - he doesn't want to push it.

"I can't make omelettes for toffee," Tony hums after a moment, "but I can fix you up a breakfast that's edible, at least. Whaddaya fancy?"

"C'n I have waffles?" Clint says, eyes zeroing on Tony's suspiciously. It feels like he's being analyzed, and it's unsettling because he's used to that from Clint and Tasha when he surprises them but he's not used to it coming from a _smaller version of the former, damn it,_ and he feels like he's being picked apart.

"Only if I can have some too," Tony grins, grabbing a pan.  
 **  
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**  
They go down to the Avengers common floor to lounge around and watch Disney movies (it has a much bigger-screened TV) for over three hours after breakfast. Tony finds himself absently wondering how Steve is, but before he can fully fix on the thought the Beast gets stabbed by Gaston from behind _("Cheater," Clint says, brow furrowed in a scowl. "Tha' isn' nice. S'playin' dirty.")_ and his attentions are required elsewhere.

They started out at a perfectly reasonable distance apart from one another at first, Tony was positive. But after a while, both of them seemed to just gravitate towards each other, and suddenly he had a lap full of Little Clint and they were snuggling.

On the sofa.

On the Avengers' common floor.

"Damn it," Tony whispers when he realises that Clint's breathing has evened out and he's fast asleep (still in his dog pyjamas), which is kind of flattering because hey, apparently the kid trusts him enough to nod off on him (in both senses of the phrase), but is also kind of irritating because now Tony's stuck with mostly nothing to do except watch movies or endure horrific television adverts.

He'd ask Jarvis to throw on an action movie, but all good action movies have loud things in them (bullets, explosions, shouting at the very least) and that'd surely wake Clint up. His next thought is for one of the rom-coms Pepper somehow forced him to watch (she teamed up with Jarvis, got him to play a couple of dubiously lovey-dovey titled films, and for some reason didn't seem surprised when Tony begrudgingly admits that yeah, okay, maybe rom-coms aren't all that bad after all), because he wouldn't be adverse to watching _The Holiday_ or _French Kiss_ again (at all, actually), but Clint might wake up to a kissing scene (or worse, one were clothes aren't necessary) and even if it's playing a bit more safely than he usually would, Tony really doesn't want to have to give the birds and the bees talk, so he's decided it's better safe than sorry.

And that brings him to the veritable litany of third choices - mystery (ooh, he could watch that Sherlock Holmes film with his doppelgänger in it), horror (nope, Little Clint doesn't need to be traumatized), thriller (again, explosions), and animation.

The latter seems reasonable enough, so Tony informs Jarvis that on no uncertain terms should he stop playing animated films and leans back to watch the Iron Giant land in a kid's backyard.  
 **  
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**  
He wakes up to Clint whining in his sleep from nightmare a couple of hours later. Tony soothes him as best he can, but since he's not exactly parent material it takes a while before the kid's head's back into the land of either dreamless sleep or happy dreams.

The engineer keeps carding his fingers through brown hair long after Clint stops sobbing, his eyes fixed on a section of wall with silent fury.

Hercules goes from zero to hero in an impressively short montage song (courtesy of the muses) in the background.  
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**  
He wakes up next to the quiet but gleeful laughter of Natasha and a camera flash.

Clint's climbed impossibly further on him during his sleep (Tony will bet the majority of his money that there isn't a single part of the kid that's actually touching the sofa any more), and even though he's fairly light the weight is starting to make Tony's arc reactor ache a tiny bit. He shifts minutely and sighs in relief as the pressure completely disappears.

He cracks one eye open to glare (sleepily and half-heartedly, so to no effect) at Natasha, who's still laughing. Yeah, she's making sure it's not loud enough to wake up Clint, but she's laughing and has her phone held up in her hand, obviously and completely unashamedly having just taken a photo of the impromptu cuddle pile.

"What time is it?" Tony says, tiredness blurring his words until he sounds like Clint used to (and what happened there? Is the kid getting more eloquent by osmosis?).

"Just after three," Natasha replies, giggles tapering off into a soft smile. "Jarvis tells me you've been in this room since nine and asleep since twelve."

Tony huffs, eyes sliding back to the TV screen. Hiccup's chasing Toothless around his stone bowl with a saddle held over his head, yelling something incomprehensible and probably rude, if you could be bothered to untangle the words.

He snorts in amusement, the noise and movement just as soft as Natasha's smile so as not to wake Clint (who's warming him up like a little space heater), and lets his head fall onto the back of the sofa.

"Go back to sleep, Tony," he hears, and feels fingers run across his scalp once in reassurance as he drifts off.  
 **  
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**  
He wakes up half an hour later of his own accord, blinking at the flickering, fire-coloured light coming off of the TV as Scar sneers over the edge at Simba, snarling something about old scenes and new faces and completely oblivious to the fact that he's basically ousting his whole plan and past to everyone (everything?) in earshot.

Tony's reminded irrevocably of Loki, of dark eyes staring at him across the room of _his tower, seriously, why did it always have to do damage to his tower_ and a cold but suspiciously fake-looking sneer plastered on his face as he presses the tip of his sceptre dangerously hard into Tony's chest and looks of irritation when the engineer refuses to be fazed and rattles something off about statistics instead of doing the creepy black eye thing and joining Loki's small army of brainwashed peasants.

Clint's snuffling on his chest adorably, and Tony feels for the first time that maybe he _can_ do this without turning into a carbon copy of Howard.

He turns his eyes to the screen just in time to see Scar realise his mistake. Tony sighs.

"Hey, J, can you restart this film?"

"Indeed I can, sir. I am aware it is among one of your favourites, despite the fact that you are occasionally known to cry at certain parts."

"Hell yeah it's one of my favourites," Tony grins. "It's got talking animals in it, whoever doesn't love talking animals is a monster. And they _sing,_ too, honestly, it's like Walt Disney read drunk me's mind and decided to make a film about it."

"I feel like I should notify you of the fact that Walt Disney died in 1966, and the Lion King came out in 1994." Jarvis says apologetically. "It's chronically impossible for that situation to have occurred."

Tony mutters something obscene and hopes Clint doesn't hear.  
 **  
@#£% &**&%£#@  
**  
Clint wakes up near the beginning of _The Road To El Dorado,_ but he appears to be perfectly content to just lie there on Tony's chest, so they watch the film together without saying anything. The miniaturised archer seems happy enough, if his gentle breathing and the expression on the side of his face is anything to go by, but Tony can't help but feel like something's missing.

He mulls over the niggling feeling silently, hands finding their way back to Clint's hair and running themselves through it over and over as he does so. He asks the nagging thought to _open up the piece of paper you're holding, you irritant, I want to know what the problem is,_ but it just snickers and dances further away, the fabric of its t-shirt fluttering away whenever he reaches for it.

One of these days he's going to come up with a way to stop the pressing thoughts from running away from him.

Then, suddenly, he manages snag a fistful of its clothing, and the niggling problem is there, in his face, mocking grin smoothing into a congratulatory smile and one hand lifting up to present him with its folded up slip of paper.

Tony takes it, returning the smile with one of his own, and opens the paper curiously. He grins at the message for him there.

"Hey, Clint?" He says, and tries not to feel guilty at the way he makes the kid jump, because, hey, he's going to make up for it in about zero point three seconds.

"Yeah?" Clint answers softly.

"Wanna build a fort?"

The brunet's eyes snap to meet his even faster than his head turns. Before Tony can even think to blink, Clint's flipped himself neatly over in the engineer's lap and his open, hopeful face is completely filling his vision.

"Are y'serious?" Clint demands, tiny kiddie hands pinning Tony to the sofa from either side of his arc reactor (oh, who is he kidding, Tony could break the hold in less time than it takes to say _interrabang)._

Tony snorts. "Of course I'm serious," he says, pretending to be offended (he is, a little bit). "What kind of monster jokes about building a pillow, blanket, and sofa fort, all rolled into one?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was so short! I felt like it had to end with that, because I'm probably gonna spend half a chapter's worth of words just describing the building of the fort, so.
> 
> You're welcome.


	3. And Then That Moment Ended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blanket fort is Discovered. Also, breakfast shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I recently discovered that my sister is reading this. I feel violated tbh
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Tony steps back to look at he and Clint's masterpiece of a fort - because, frankly, it is one, with the huge, vaguely TARDIS-like inside padded with pillows and fluffy blankets and its incredibly impressive reinforcements (courtesy of Little Clint) - and feels a wide grin spread on his lips.

He'd never been allowed this sort of thing as a kid - if he even suggested it Howard would go ballistic, and his mum and the original Jarvis never dared to try and just build one - so this was a first attempt for the both of them.

They'd done pretty well, all things considered.

"C'n we go ins'de?" Clint asks in a hushed whisper, like the past three hours of crazy pillow fights and manic fort-building have been for nought and he won't be allowed in.

Tony puts on a thoughtful face. "Hm," he says, and forces back a grin at Clint's mildly panicked expression. "Interesting question. I _should_ say that it's dinner and then bed, and that we can come back to this tomorrow, _buuuuut,_ since we _did_ build this -"

"IN THE NAME'A SCIENCE!" Clint hollers, and dives in, scattering pillows everywhere and almost bringing the whole thing down around him.

It's untidy, it's unruly, and it's a vaguely strange thing to yell considering how old Clint is (Tony actually doesn't know).

Tony has never been more proud.

"I was gonna say _together. . ."_ he finishes, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck and trying not to grin too obviously, "but, personally, I prefer _in the name of science,_ so -"

And so he repeats the war cry as he flings himself into an almighty bellyflop, making sure that he won't hit Clint, who looks torn between giggling and running away to hide so he won't be used as an extra-squishy landing pad.  
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**  
They roll around and play fight and giggle enough for fifty people over the next few hours. Tony gets up at one point to go and make a tiny dinner for them both, and he has to gently pry Clint's hand off of his ankle and promise him more than one waffle come breakfast before the kid lets go. Both of them require frequent toilet breaks due to high amounts of hot chocolate (Tony's pretty sure they're both riding dolphins on the wave of the biggest sugar rush they've ever had in their entire lives) and both of them whine whenever they have to pause the Doctor Who episode. They tell ridiculous jokes and Tony cracks a truckload of awful puns. They whisper secrets and tell (mostly made up) ghost stories while holding torches up to their chins because it makes them look ridiculous and takes the edge off of the mild fear. They argue over silly things, like Tony insisting that three comes after six and Clint almost going mad trying to correct him and like Clint insisting (while giggling more than slightly nervously) that he's old because he has grey hairs and Tony muttering something about irritating young people and he's not old, damn it, he just has to deal with irritating people all the time and Clint snorting in amusement and claiming that the only irritating person Tony has to deal with is his reflection.

(The kid packs some serious sass when he's not afraid to speak up.)

The two don't notice the sun set (or rise) from inside their bubble of awesomeness.

They only remember that other people live in the same building as them when they hear footsteps coming down the hall. Two heads with ruffled brown hair poke out of the doorway (definitely not blinking at the light) in time to see Steve freeze, eyes wide and staring at the fort like it's something that's come from another planet and he's just watched it smack into his living room via the fireplace.  
 _  
"What. **Happened?"**_ The blond all but shouts, gaze flashing to Tony and Clint's sheepish (but still excited, because hell yeah they're still on a sugar rush) faces and back to the side of the fort again.  
 _  
It probably doesn't help that the part Steve can see has a Captain America blanket on the outside,_ Tony thinks to himself.

Tony can hear a set of quick, light footsteps coming from the elevator; a second later, Bruce comes skidding around the corner, doing a comical double-take when he glimpses the blanket fort and then stopping to stare at it, same as Steve.

"Is that. . . is that a blanket fort?" He says weakly.

Tony hums a positive, gaze flicking to the side of the pillow fort he can see. It really is very well constructed. Apparently he and Clint make a fabulous fort-building team. "Yes, it is. Fabulous, right?"

"It's, uh, it's great," Steve murmurs brokenly just as Natasha materialises next to him. He doesn't seem to have the energy to jump, and Bruce seems to be still too fixed on the whole _our-communal-lounge-got-turned-into-a-fort_ thing to have noticed her yet.

"Is this it?" Natasha complains. Bruce blinks at her a little bit but then just returns to glaring at the fort like it's personally offended him. "I thought someone was dying."

"Dyin'?" Clint says confusedly. "Tha's bad, why would'y wan' some'n t'die? An' s'tha' _Bruce Bann'r?"_

Bruce's eyebrows shoot up. "You've heard of me?"

Clint rolls his eyes (only Tony catches the little flush his cheeks adopt at the attention). "Duh, I've heard of you. M'mum talks ab't your w'rk all the time."

"And can you keep up?" Bruce asks, and his tone is mild enough but his eyebrows are doing that little quirky _I'm honestly surprised and completely flattered_ thing they do in situations like this, where someone looks at him and sees Bruce Banner, The Scientist, instead of Bruce Banner, The Hulk's Alter-Ego.

Clint half-shrugs, neatly side-stepping past Tony so he can fully exit the fort. "M'stly. S'long as some'n c'n dumb it down a little bit firs'."

Tony follows suit, carefully making sure he doesn't bring the whole thing down as he stands, and manages to stumble over to the kitchen to get some more hot chocolate only to simultaneously clock (get it?) the time - _is it really six in the morning?_ \- and realise that between the two of them Clint and Tony have consumed over twenty mugs of hot chocolate (if the mugs scattered carelessly all over the side are anything to go by). Tony makes himself a cup of coffee (because it's been too long since he's had some and he's pretty sure he's going to get withdrawal symptoms soon) and wanders back into the communal area.

"Electromagnetic spectrum?" Bruce is asking, excited and animated and using far too long words for this time in the morning. Tony takes a huge gulp of coffee, makes a face, and squints at the doctor, ignoring the amused look Steve shoots him.

"T'ligh' thingy?" Clint clarifies before spouting everything from radio waves to gamma rays.

Bruce looks insanely impressed.

Clint looks tired.

The two are a sight to behold, all mussed brown hair and eyes glinting energetically from inside dark circles of exhaustion, and Tony suddenly realises that Bruce probably hasn't slept since Clint got de-aged - he's probably been looking for a cure while Tony's been slacking off, damn it - and that Clint's still in his purple Labrador pajamas from yesterday.

He yawns involuntarily and ignores Steve's second amused look in a minute.

"How long have you been awake?" The supersoldier asks him as he crosses the room. Tony notes dully that Natasha's eyes have flicked over to them and assumes that she's listening in.

"We've been awake for, uh, nearly fourteen and a half hours?" Tony estimates, deliberately avoiding the connotations that came with the fact that Steve asked how long _Tony_ had been awake and not both of them.

Steve's breathing comes out in a tiny huff of disapproval and the engineer spots a small eye-roll from Natasha (rude). "I meant you. How long have _you_ been awake for?"

Tony mumbles something obscene (after a quick check that Clint's still caught up in science-ing with Bruce). "I slept tons yesterday," he mutters.

Steve raises an eyebrow. "And what length of time does _tons_ fall under?"

Tony shrugs. "I don't -"

"He slept on and off for four and a half hours while cuddling in the sofa with Clint yesterday afternoon," Natasha grins as she wanders across to join the two.

Steve quirks a sceptical eyebrow for the second time in as many minutes and nods toward the fort. "Was this before or after the destruction of our common room?"

"Before," Natasha says, still grinning. "It was cute. I have pictures."

Steve mumbles something incomprehensible and pinches the bridge of his nose, but he seems more amused than anything else, so Tony deems it safe to smile and offer Steve a coffee.

"Please," the supersoldier murmurs, kneading the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Make it as strong as possible."

Tony snorts. "Aw, honey, you wouldn't be able to bear that."

He pats Steve on the arm as he strolls past, back into the kitchen, and doesn't notice the raging blush the blond adopts at the name.  
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**  
Tony eventually manages to separate Bruce and Clint long enough to usher them to bed (yes, both of them, he now knows for a fact that Bruce was up all night on an experiment and, c'mon, he was _with_ Clint the whole time), and suddenly it's just him, Steve, and Natasha, who keeps giggling distractingly into her mug whenever Steve and Tony make eye contact.

"I can make breakfast," Tony offers mildly when Steve visibly has to haul himself up when he tries to start the usual bacon and eggs and stuff.

Natasha snickers. "Stark, I've seen your omelettes. I wouldn't come near whatever you're going to cook with a ten foot pole."

Steve's eyes swivel from the redheaded woman to Tony. He's still half-risen, suspending himself in midair with the power of his (honestly glorious) muscles, and the engineer forcibly shoves him back into his chair as he takes over the hob.

"I suck at cooking omelettes," Tony scoffs. "But everything else is edible at least."

Natasha snorts and takes another long sip of her coffee. "Mhmm."

Tony narrows his eyes and points a spatula at her threateningly. "I know your weaknesses, boss lady. Don't think I won't use them against you."

She smiles lopsidedly at him. "And don't think I don't have any dirt on you."

Tony pouts overdramatically. "You're a hard woman to get one up over on, Agent Romanov."

Her smile turns mischievous. "Thank you, Tony. It comes with the job."

He makes a face and splashes cold water in her general direction. "Anyway, what do you want for brekkie?"

Steve wrinkles his nose. _"Brekkie?"_

Tony turns to him and half-scowls, half-smiles as he explains (Natasha giggles into her mug again, and surely that should be empty by now, hasn't she been drinking steadily for at least five minutes?). "Brekkie. Breakfast. The former is a shortened version of the latter."

Steve's face doesn't change much. "Yes, I gathered that, thanks, but it still makes no sense."

"Don't doubt genius," Tony hisses, waving his spatula around again. He has to stop more quickly than he would like because both the superspy and the supersoldier look like they're considering prying it out of his cold, dead corpse's hands while the other kicks him once more for luck.

He asks the question for the third time, because really, nobody's answered it yet and by proxy he can't start his amazing breakfast-fest.

"Waffles," Steve says, and his eyes make it look like he's half-joking but if Tony doesn't do something with his hands soon he's going to go crazy so he just mumbles something rude about supersoldiers under his breath and starts on the waffle mixture.

"I want waffles too, if you could make extra," Natasha declares, making herself right at home in her seat (see: sprawling across everything in a one-meter radius) and making puppy eyes at Tony, who laughs.

"I'm pretty sure any extras I might make will be vacuumed up by one of our resident food voids" - he gestures to Steve, who doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed - "but sure, I can make a batch for you."

"It's the -"

"It's the serum, yes, it speeds up your metabolism and makes you burn carbohydrates faster so you need to eat more," Natasha and Tony chorus in a deadpan, monotone sort of way that makes Steve chuckle, blush (Natasha glances at Tony and giggles _again, why is she giggling so much?),_ and rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

"It's _true."_ The blond defends, sheepish expression still lingering.

Tony rolls his eyes.

Natasha scoffs. "Yeah, and Stark needs coffee like people need air to breathe."

"I _do,"_ the engineer says, but the sharp tone he was aiming for is softened by the obvious amusement colouring it.

Two eye-rolls. Tony's not sure if he should think _score!_ or _rude._  
 **  
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**  
The noise Steve makes when he bites into one of the waffles is worth the fourteen batches that immediately follow the sight of a clean plate. Natasha almost falls off her chair from laughing at Tony's blush.  
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**  
Bruce wanders down after a couple of hours (Steve, Natasha, and Tony have, by now, migrated to the common room) and joins them in a season-long marathon of _Merlin._ He hums at the sight of the blanket fort, which is just as Tony and Clint left it at six o'clock.

"Are you gonna take that down?" The doctor asks kindly, nodding towards it.

"No," Tony says, "it's a work of art."

"Eventually," Steve and Natasha say blandly.

Tony mock-gasps. "Lowly peasants, how dare you? Nobody understands true greatness these days."

Bruce runs a hand down his face, hair to chin, and stumbles towards the kitchen. "It's too early for this."

Tony's attempts to squash down the urge to quirk an amused eyebrow are all in vain. "It's only twelve," he says dryly, "and you were talking about science with a kid a couple of hours ago, what happened?"

"I slept," the other scientist answers, hissing the second word like some people might say the word _terrorists_ or _cat poo on my petunias._

"Poor baby," Steve says without an ounce of sympathy, "having to do some of life's necessary evils."

"Eat," Natasha chimes in with a similar tone.

"Drink," the supersoldier continues.

"Sleep."

"Clean yourself."

Bruce scowls at the two and goes for the coffee machine.

"Sir, I feel I must inform you that Agent Barton is displaying some forms of distress," Jarvis says, completely destroying the feeling of unity and companionship, but Tony can't find it in himself to care at the moment.

He lets his head snap up. "What kind of distress?"

"It appears he is having a nightmare," Jarvis says, some emotion in his voice that Tony doesn't get immediately. He's already halfway to the elevator when he realises it's worry and concern and frustration at his inability to help physically.

And suddenly Tony's in and he's flying up faster than he ever thinks this elevator's gone before, like his and Jarvis' mixed agitation is making it speed up by pure will. He's stumbling out on legs that haven't got the memo to move yet with a brain that's already yelling at them to go faster, almost sprinting across the corridors of his floor to get to the room Tony had put him in. He's skidding to a halt, snagging the doorframe _(painpainpain)_ with one hand to aid the sudden speed change, and he's staring blankly at the heaving lump in the middle of the bed _(such a different view of it than this morning),_ feeling suddenly very small and very unprepared and very helpless (you're an awful father figure, _anawfulfatherfigureanawfulfatherfigure)._

Tony shakes the feelings off quickly _(notimenotimenotime),_ surging forwards and starting by ripping the covers away from the sobbing child _(helphimhelphimhelphim)._

"Clint," Tony yells desperately, because this is a bad one, this nightmare, Clint is thrashing and crying and screaming and fighting back with every bone in his body and hyperventilating, and if he doesn't take in a proper breath soon Tony's pretty sure he's going to die from a panic attack, and the covers can't have helped that in the slightest, so there is _no time to lose. "CLINT!"_

Tony shakes him as gently as he can, and suddenly Clint heaves up in the bed, alert and awake and okay but not because he's wide-eyed and panting and _terrified._

Tony's heart breaks, just a little bit.

He pulls Clint into his arms, curling around him like he can protect him from the demons that haunt him, and rocks slowly and soothingly.

"Toneee?" Clint asks, voice hoarse from screaming and broken from tears.

"That's me, kiddo," Tony whispers softly. "That's me."

"You're 'live," Clint whispers back incredulously, bringing one hand up to touch the genius' cheek almost reverently. His eyes are still wide, but even though the fear is bleeding out of them Tony still wants to cry because the pure, animalistic terror is being replaced by raw, vulnerable awe at the fact that he's alive.

"Well, I would hope that I am," Tony answers, and screw anyone who laughs at how broken he sounds.

Clint melts into him like he's just had all of his bones removed at once. "I though' th' bad guys took y'. I tried t'stop 'em, Toneee, I did, but th' ar'ws I foun' me didn' hurt 'em an' they took y'."

The kid is crying again, so Tony rocks him a little bit harder and holds him a little tighter. "Shhh, shhh. I'm here, short stack, you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"I -"

"You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to," Tony breathes.

Clint swallows. "I wan' to."

"Okay. Okay, then."

"They sen' me a vid'o. Th'bad guys. You was in it, but you was screamin' an' bleedin' all ov'r th'place. They said tha' I should sen' somethin' if I wan'ed t'see y'again, but y'said _no, kiddo, don' do it_ an' they hit you for it but you kept r'peatin' it ov'r an' ov'r so I didn' but then y' was screamin' again an' I felt so bad, Toneee, so bad. An' then Tasha an' Steve an' Bruce an' anoth'r man with long blond hair was there, but they wouldn' help y' like I asked 'em to, they jus' stood there an' said tha' it was all m'fault.

"An' it was, Toneee," Clint sobs softly. "It was."

Tony wants to punch something.

"It wasn't," he whispers in return. "It wasn't, Clint. You think it is and you agonise over it for ages and you tear yourself apart from the inside out but it's not your fault because it's not real. It's just a dream, and yeah, it's a really crappy dream, but it's still just a dream. No matter how real it feels when you step forwards or how solid the ground is under your feet or how cold the air feels as it goes into your lungs, it's never real, and it's never your fault. You need to remember that."

"Okay," Clint says, the quietest Tony's ever heard this de-aged version of himself be. "Okay."

Clint doesn't want Tony to leave after his dream, and the older man definitely doesn't want to, so he gently moves Clint over a little and slides into the bed, curling back around the smaller body protectively almost immediately.

"I'm here," Tony whispers long after Clint's breathing evens out. "I'm here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . sorry?


	4. Don't Be Ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is resolutely Not Jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell this was written in pieces? 'cause this was written in pieces.
> 
>  
> 
> Little bit of Tony angst. What can I say? My hand slipped.

Tony wakes up later to small, soft hands pulling his t-shirt up slowly, like they're trying to be sneaky about it but don't really know how to best go about it. He's scared, for a millisecond, murky, swirling water and bright lights set into dark, ominous rock plastering themselves in a flash across the insides of his eyelids, but then he remembers Clint and realises that yeah, it was probably way past the time he'd expected it to take for the miniaturised archer's curiosity to get the better of him about the bright blue 'nightlight' set into his chest, so he's not really surprised.

"Watcha doin', squirt?" Tony says without opening his eyes or giving any outward clues at all to the fact that he's awake. He hears a loud squawk of alarm and feels the kid nearly jump clear off the bed.

"Uh."

The genius snorts, making one hundred percent sure that Clint's not physically on him before sitting up and giving the younger brunet a dry look. "Eloquent."

Clint's nose wrinkles and he scowls (Tony can't take it seriously - he's cute, okay? Sue him). "S'not my faul' tha' s'interestin'."

"Interesting?" Tony says, slightly incredulously, and yanks his shirt up the rest of the way so Clint can see the arc reactor in all of its palladium-scar-surrounded glory.

He feels his mouth twist up into an empathetic grimace when Clint gasps dramatically and stares at it with wide eyes.

He knows perfectly well what his torso looks like with the arc reactor in it. He's had ages to get used to this new part of him (and all of the things that come with it), and by now he's long since stopped pausing at the sight of it in a mirror. He knows by now that he's going to see the reactor embedded in his chest, sunk in a nest of grey, angular palladium scars and the silvery-white of intensely scarred skin. He's aware that there is going to be a bright blue flashlight, essentially, in his torso at all times. He's grown used to the weight of it and the feeling of having cold metal jammed four inches into his flesh (at least). He's used to it. He deals with it. He's fine.

But being _fine_ with it doesn't mean he likes it, exactly.

He thinks it's pretty, if he's in a good mood. A work of art - well, Yinsen worked on it with him, what else was it going to be? Mesmerising, absolutely. Sometimes he just sits there with a mirror and watches it work, listens to the soft hum and thinks about how that hunk of metal he designed in a dark Afghanistan cave is currently keeping him alive. But that doesn't change the fact that it's invasive and it hinders his range of movement and his possible breath capacity and it _hurts like all hell_ if he lies in the wrong position for long enough.

"It's not nice, huh?"

Clint's gaze flicks briefly upwards, tearing itself away from the arc reactor and moving to stare him square in the eyes. _"Not nice?"_ he demands, his tone of voice clearly stating that he thinks whoever said that was either drunk or high and had no clue of what they're saying. "Who said it wasn' nice?"

Tony's lips twitch into a reluctant and tiny (but completely genuine) smile. "I did, mostly." He admits, glancing up at the ceiling so he doesn't have to watch Clint's face before deciding to just screw it and looking back nearly immediately. "I bashed it so much and refused to accept it so often when I first got it that I think I've lost the ability to ever see it exactly the way everyone else sees it."

There's a very long silence. Somehow, Clint's face is completely unreadable, and it makes Tony want to shift in place nervously. He squashes the urge.

"How _do_ you see it?" He whispers eventually, unable to contain the curiosity and the urge to find out at least one person's point of view.

"S'somethin' awesome, Toneee," Clint whispers back, honesty blossoming on his face as he stares into the elder's eyes. "I see it as somethin' you've made an' worked hard'n, an' th'effort's paid off, like y'said it woul' for me if I w'rked hard at somethin'. I see it as somethin' y'should keep around for anythin' from an emerg'ncy t'a needin' a nightligh'."

Tony thinks he wants to cry. "I -"

Clint shakes his head firmly. He's sure of his opinion, and Tony knows that basically nothing's going to budge it (if the older Clint's stubbornness is anything to go by), but even that doesn't change the fact that he's flagging, evidently exhausted. Tony wonders briefly how long he's been awake for. "Nuh, Toneee. Y'put yourself down too much. Have some confid'nce, yeah? Like y'told me to."

"Yeah," Tony whispers, near tears, and lets Clint sprawl on his chest, face next to the arc reactor, features bathed in pure blue light.  
**  
**@#£% &**&%£#@  
  
Thor arrives the next day, surprising Tony and Clint but nobody else. The pair hadn't realised that two and a half days had already flown by. All of their adventures must have gradually cut away chunks of time as they whiled away the hours with every single game they could get their hands on, and then some - the range went from their own games (archery, word games, etc) to board games like Monopoly and chess.

"My brethen!" Thor shouts cheerfully as he lands in the middle of the lounge (directly into the hologram of a Barton-And-Stark-Improved game of Snakes And Ladders, damn it) with a thunderclap and a handful of tiny crackles of lightning. "I have ret-"

Thor spots Clint, who's sitting on the floor, dumbstruck. Clint's eyes are wide and his jaw is slack with wonder.

"Who is this?" Thor asks Tony. His tone is carefully light - Clint _is_ currently a child - but Tony can hear the implications Thor's trying to get across.

"Not an enemy," Tony replies, standing up from where he'd been sat on the floor and watching the dark wariness ebb away from Thor's eyes. Some still lingers, but the majority of it is gone. "Thor, this is Clint. Clint, this is -"

"Thor Odinson," Clint interrupts breathlessly, standing too and openly staring. "You're him, aren't'cha? The Norse god'a thunder. Lightnin', storms, rain, an' stuff? Son'a Odin, brother'a Loki? You're real?" Clint's face lights up even more than it already has. "Ooh, ooh, c'n I call you _Mr Odinson?"_

Tony and Thor wince slightly. They make sure Clint doesn't see, because he's a kid, he'd get the wrong idea completely, and he honestly seems to think it would be the Best Thing Ever, but the idea of one of the Avengers calling Thor _Mr Odinson_ (or anything other than Thor, actually) feels so foreign to the both of them that it nearly hurts.

"Just Thor is fine, little one," Thor chuckles, picking Clint up and letting a grin rise to his face at the ecstatic squeal the kid makes. Thor pulls Clint into an easy hug (probably to see if the kid will spontaneously combust from excitement, because surprisingly enough Thor likes to cause a little bit of chaos - sometimes more than a little, as discovered in The Great Prank War).  
_  
I'm hugging a Norse god!_ Clint mouths over Thor's shoulder, looking like he actually _is_ going to combust after all. He looks giddy, happy, safe.

Tony shoots him a thumbs-up and resolutely doesn't feel jealous.  
__  
Clint deserves this, he thinks. _He's been through hell and back with his ass of a father - as far as I can tell from what he's let slip, anyway - and I'm not gonna ruin his relationship with the first guy he's trusted instinctively just because I'm je-_  
  
Okay, fine, so maybe he is a little. But that's fine - he can deal, he can _suck it up, buttercup,_ he can grin and bear it.

Thor goes to let Clint drop gently to the floor, but the kid cuddles in closer and denies it.

"You're warm," Clint says with a toothy smile. Tony hadn't even been aware he was cold. "An' your arms're squishy."

Thor fakes offense (visibly making sure it's not mistaken for real hurt). "They are not squishy," he scowls. "They're muscular."

"Whatever they are, they're comfeee," Clint grins.

Tony wants to punch something (again), but he can't (again), because he doesn't want to risk that Clint gets scared of him.

"I'm just gonna go and get a drink," Tony excuses as he ducks out of the room. It hurts to look at Thor and Clint, at the scene playing out in front of him, but he can't tear his eyes away.  
**  
**@#£% &**&%£#@  
  
Tony does get a drink - he wasn't lying when he said he was going to - but it's alcohol, not the flavoured waters he's started to enjoy since Clint got de-aged, and it's some of the strongest he's got.

But it's not strong enough.

Not strong enough to wash away the image of Thor holding Clint.

Thor's so much more capable than Tony. He's a superhero, an alien, and good with kids, so he can catch children's attention and look after them as easy as breathing. He can protect Clint from anything physical (that's practically a given) and he can probably use some sort of Asguardian amulet or something to keep the nightmares away.

Clint seems to trust Thor implicitly. Sure, he never seemed to doubt Tony's trustworthiness, but he didn't even leave a split second between clapping eyes on Thor and trusting him. The kid even _fangirled,_ for God's sake. He didn't fangirl over Tony.

Mind you, there's not much good about Tony to fangirl over. He's saved a couple of people, sure, but the collateral damage that follows in his wake is even more loyal than a shadow in that it never goes away, no matter what, and it's usually larger than he himself is. That's not something to be proud of. That's not something children should be around.  
_  
He's_ not something children should be around.

Tony should have stopped lying to himself about being a good parent days ago.  
**  
**@#£% &**&%£#@  
  
"Tony," Natasha says gently as she prises his bottle - his fifth? Sixth? Seventh, eighth, ninth? - out of his loose fingers. "What's this about?"

"Nothin'," he slurs.

Natasha snorts, moves a couple of pillows, sits down next to him on his workshop sofa. "Nothing, my ass. It's Clint, isn't it?"

Tony scowls and tries to melt into the pillow-burrito he's made for himself.

"Jarvis called me." Natasha says. "He said you haven't drunk anything alcoholic all week because you don't want to scare Clint by reminding him of his father's possibly non-existent alcohol problem. He said that, before Clint was de-aged, you hadn't drunk anything for weeks because you were trying to quit for the Maria Stark Foundation. He's worried."

Tony huffs. "Jarvis knows too much."

A small smile tugs at the corners of Natasha's mouth. "What are you gonna do, kill him off like some cheesy Bond villain?"

"Nah," Tony mumbles. "I love him too much."

Natasha laughs lightly and slaps his hand gently when he reaches for another bottle in the same moment.

"S'the problem," he continues suddenly. "With AIs, I mean. And sentimentality. You get attached. And you can't get rid of them, because they've integrated themselves into your lives and suddenly they're family."

"Thank you, sir," Jarvis says, making Tony jump. There's a sort of warmth in the way he says it, and Tony briefly remembers the lines of code which allow Jarvis to develop as he sees fit. Tony unlocked them when he thought that Jarvis was developed and aware enough to make good decisions. Was developing emotions something Jarvis saw fit to have, too?

"Uh." Tony stumbles over his words like he probably would his feet if he were to try and walk.

"What's this about, Tony?" Natasha asks again. The engineer thanks his lucky stars that she doesn't press any further on the _I love Jarvis too much to delete him_ topic. (He's an honest drunk, if he's in the company of someone he trusts.)

"Thor's better for Clint than I am, right?" Tony says, staring down into an empty bottle Natasha had let him pick up at some point. "I mean, have you seen the two of them? Thor can protect him, better than I can by far, and he's got way more experience with kids than me."

Natasha's silent. Tony doesn't look, because he doesn't want any of the pity and understanding her face is undoubtedly going to be displaying. He doesn't want her guilt because she thinks it's true too. He doesn't want to see realisation dawn if she hadn't thought about it before.

"Face it, Natasha," Tony whispers drunkenly. "I'm. . . I'm not someone kids should be around. I'm not someone _anyone_ should be around."

"Bulls-"

"Don't lie to me, Natasha," Tony hiccups. "Don't lie to me. I've had enough of everyone saying something's not my fault when it is, it's all my fault. The papers are right, Tasha, they're all right. I'm a playboy and a scoundrel and someone's failed prodigy. I'm just another link in the world's worst chain, and a rusty one at that because I can't even hold up the chain properly. No heirs unless I marry a woman, and right now I'm more leaning towards the gay side of bi, so that's not exactly gonna happen any time soon. I can't even adopt a kid because I'd probably kill them by accident in ten seconds flat. The Starks are meant to have iron backbones, Tasha, but I don't, I don't, and it's all my fault."

Natasha gets up abruptly. He hears her leave the room.

"All my fault," Tony echoes sadly, and goes to take a swig from the empty bottle.  
**  
**@#£% &**&%£#@  
  
He wakes up the next morning to one of the worst hangovers he's had for half a year and Dummy looming over him, his claw desperately holding onto a glass of water that seems to be slipping out of his grip at an alarmingly rapid pace. Tony flings a lazy arm out and catches it just before it joins the plethora of broken glass floating in the veritable lake under Dummy's wheels.

Tony waves a halfhearted hand for Jarvis to shut the blinds as he sits up, because he knows from experience that as he straightens his head moves into a patch of sunlight that's evil as far as his hangovers are concerned. He secures his grip on the glass of water and waits for Dummy to move back so he can jump over the glass-puddle and grab an aspirin or some sort of other strong, fast-acting painkiller.

"Dummy," Tony says after a heartbeat of staring on both sides. "You need to move so I can get up."

"I have orders for you to stay where you are, sir." Jarvis cuts in smoothly. Tony notices dully that he's following the code lines that advise him to speak at a quieter volume when Tony's hungover. "And, since I am unfortunately left lacking in the physical department and you have developed a liking to ignoring my requests when you are drunk or hungover, Dummy is ensuring that you stay where you are for the time being."

"I told you, J, I can build you a body if you want one."

"And I have told you, sir, that I do not want one."

"Then stop complaining about it," Tony mutters as he takes a sip of water and glares over the rim of his glass at Dummy. "You sound like a crabby old lady with thirty cats."

"I daresay it's called teasing," Jarvis replies without hesitation. "Unless the multiple dictionaries you uploaded to my system so I could cross-reference them and therefore get the most accurate definition are wrong?"

"All dictionaries are wrong," Tony grumbles. "Think about it. You define a word by the way you use it. You need context. If you only use a word in the exact circumstances a dictionary advises you to, then life becomes dull." He pauses. "And who says _daresay_ anymore anyway?"

Jarvis apparently sees fit to ignore the last comment. "I believe examples you have used upon previous occasions are "hella" as a large measurement and "I'll fight you" as a phrase used to express affection?"

"Shut up, J, nobody likes a know-it-all."

"You've claimed quite the opposite in the past."

"Why did I create you, again?"

"I believe -"

"Oh, shut up."

"God, you're like an old married couple," Natasha remarks dryly from where she's leaning against the frame of the doorway (Tony most definitely doesn't jump).

"I'm assuming she's the person who gave you the orders to not let me get up?" Tony says, and directs his glare to one of Jarvis' many sensors in the room.

"You would be correct in that assumption, sir." Jarvis says.

"You need something," Natasha says, smiling softly, "but you need to be sober for it."

"If that's the case," Tony sighs, "then I would advise you to tell the thing I need to wait until the painkillers I fully intend on taking start to work."

Tony finds it offensive that Dummy immediately moves aside when Natasha waves a hand. He makes sure to hiss _traitor_ under his breath as he passes.

"Okay," the engineer says decisively after a couple of minutes. He's leaning back against the counter next to his sink (where he's washed pieces of armour with elbow grease and love because it was dented and he and Jarvis were worried that it would get ruined in the usual wash, which meant that he had to clean the whole suit because the normal procedure required full assembly with no gaping holes or anything that could injure, break, or ruin any of the inner workings), and trying to look like he's not dying of curiosity. "Hit me, Tasha. What's this thing I supposedly need that I haven't -"

Natasha steps neatly to one side, and Clint comes barreling in with arms wide and a desperate look on his face.

"Woah, kid!" Tony yells, diving forwards to scoop the brunet up before he hurts himself on anything. "There's glass all over the floor and random things scattered everywhere, seriously, you could get hurt -"

"Toneee," Clint whispers, shamelessly interrupting Tony's protective-parent spew. "M'sorry."

Tony blinks. "What?"

"M'sorry."

"What are you sorry for, squirt?" He's confused. "Did you break something? Because I told you, kiddo, collateral damage, it's fine, I can fix it -"

"You're a great Dad," Clint whispers into Tony's Iron Man t-shirt (gag gift turned well-loved garment, don't ask), and the owner of said t-shirt freezes. "Bes' 've ever had. M'sorry I made y'think y'weren', 'cause y'are, an' Thor's got nothin' on you."

Tony chokes back a broken sob. "Kid, I -"

"Nuh. Nuh, Toneee. Tasha told me what you said. She said y'though' Thor was bett'r f'r me, that y'though' he'd be better at pr'tectin' me an' loving me."

"He is," Tony whispers into Clint's hair. He can't lie to the kid. He can't.

"Nuh." Clint repeats stubbornly, squishing his hand into Tony's mouth. "I think some people would'a though' that too, but I don' know an' I don' care what they think, 'cause I think _you're_ the bes', an' I don' give a rat's butt ab't Thor."

The inventor doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry. Maybe both.

"I think we're both a little brok'n, righ'?" Clint continues, leaning back in Tony's arms so he can stare the older man dead in the eyes. "But we're a little less brok'n togeth'r."

"Yeah," Tony chokes out, and pulls Clint back into a tight hug.

Natasha smiles at him from the doorway, genuine and wide, mouthing _so much for being awful with kids_ to him before turning and silently leaving them to it. Clint grasps fistfuls of one of Tony's favourite t-shirts (ironically one his older self got him) and doesn't seem to want to let go any time soon. Tony shares the sentiment.

"Yeah. Less broken together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shortie, sorry! But yeah, I'm alive. You're still stuck with me and my horrifically inconsistent updates.
> 
> Sorry.


	5. Obie Wan Kenobi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint makes an honest mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this super duper short and super duper dumb. I just thought it was better than nothing, and I think the end worked better as what it is - an ending - than as a scene cut, which is what it would have been. And I didn't want to make everyone wait any longer.
> 
> Shout-out to the person who said they were in the middle of a hurricane. Kudos to you, buddy, for being so pumped about ny fic that you're reading during a storm.

"What's this?" Clint asks, poking a silvery-white scar with one finger.

Tony sighs. He's shirtless, as per Clint's request to see all of his _"awesome battle scars"_ (who has this kid been hanging out with, seriously), and he's letting Clint prod all of them, which honestly must say a lot about trust.

"That's a palladium scar."

"Another one? Aw," Clint pouts slightly before he gets distracted with something next to the arc reactor. "What's that?"

Tony leans his head back so he can get as good a view of his chest as possible. There are three scars he'd almost forgotten about - one for each of the claw-tips on the machine Obidiah used to steal his reactor.

"They're the claw marks of a bad man," Tony says slightly hesitantly as he stares at the scars. He feels Clint's eyes on him but doesn't raise his gaze to meet them. "He tried to steal this." He taps on the reactor so he doesn't have to choke the words out.

"Why?" Clint asks, because he's a kid and kids ask questions.

"Because he was bad, deep inside," Tony replies softly. "Like an apple you bite into only to realise it's actually rotten at the core when half of it's in your mouth."

Clint wrinkles his nose at the (admittedly vaguely disgusting) analogy. "Ew."

"Sorry not sorry," Tony grins, laughing to cover up the cold shivers of remembrance. It's still fresh in his mind, even if it happened years ago - the paralytic buzz, the feeling of his limbs turning to ice, the intense sense of betrayal as Obidiah rips the arc reactor out of his chest and smirks at it -

"Toneee?" Clint whines. "Tell me the story."

"What story?"

"The one where y'got rid'a the bad man," Clint elaborates, and Tony closes his eyes and flops backwards until he's lying on his back. "I bet y'beat him real good, huh? Didja?"

"You bet I did," Tony replies, opening his eyes and smiling at the ceiling, his chest feeling lighter than it has in a long while.

And Tony starts to talk.

He gives Clint a blow-by-blow account of the fight, cutting out the part where he had to literally drag himself down to his workshop and the part where his heart stopped for a minute after Pepper set off the massive arc reactor and fried Obie.

He's impressed with himself, in all honesty, because he can usually barely choke out six sentences about it before having a panic attack and fleeing to his workshop for at least a day. Maybe taking care of little Clint is helping him as well as everyone else.

"And after?" Clint says when Tony's done. His eyes are shining, and he's sprawled over Tony's stomach, head propped up on his elbows.

"What d'you mean, kiddo?"

"After the fight," Clint clarifies, kicking his legs. "What happened to Ob - Ob -" Clint scowls briefly. "Obie - Obie Wan Kanobe after - why're you laughing?"

Tony can't breathe very well, he's giggling so much, so he moves Clint off of his chest and sits up, but it doesn't make much difference.

"Toneee?"

"Give him a sec, Clint," Natasha chimes in from the doorway. She sounds amused, but Tony's laughing too hard to care or even jump at her unexpected appearance.

"Tasha!" Clint yells excitedly, jumping up and sprinting to the doorway. There's a subtle _oof_ as he collides with Natasha (Clint is the one who makes the noise). "Tasha, Tasha, did you know Toneee fought a bad man called Obie Wan Kanobe -"

Tony _howls,_ tears starting to leak out of his eyes, and leans against a nearby wall for support. He usually hates even thinking about Obidiah's betrayal, so he's got barely any clue why he's finding it so easy to tell Clint about it and then _laugh,_ but he's picturing Obie secretly hiding the fact that he was a Jedi master his whole life and he's thinking about how hilarious it would be if Obie just transformed into his cloak and other weird garments and unleashed the Force on Tony during their battle. To be honest, in that version of events it's highly likely that Tony would die (because, man, who fights to the death with people with the Force and lives?), but it's 100% guaranteed that he would die either laughing his ass off or doing his best Yoda impression. He can see his headstone now - _died laughing, he did_ chiselled into stone. (Pepper wouldn't approve, probably, but hopefully after the pinprick hole he left in her life has healed over she'll find some humour in it.)

Tony wipes away some of the tears, but doesn't stop laughing for a good while, even when his face starts to hurt.

"I'm going to come back later," Natasha announces. There's mirth in her voice, and when Tony looks up at her through watery eyes she's putting Clint down from where he was balanced neatly and securely on one hip with a genuine smile sitting openly on her face.

Huh.

Tony manages to choke out a vaguely acknowledging noise before collapsing onto the bed dramatically and planting his face into the duvet. His shoulders shake sporadically with breathless giggles, but he manages to get his lungs back under control eventually.

There's a dip in the bed, covers tightening into crinkles as someone short uses them to drag themselves on.

"Toneee?"

"Yeah?" The brunet answers. His eyes are on the ceiling, but his attention is on the light happiness his chest and the smile lines he can feel crinkled by his eyes.

"Why did you laugh at Obie Wan Kenobi?"

"He's -" Tony actually manages to hold back on the laughing front this time. "He's not called Obie Wan Kenobi, kiddo."

He can _feel_ Clint frowning. "Then what _is_ his name?"

"Obie. Just Obie." Technically, it's Obidiah, but he's too cheerful to bother with full names today. "Obie Wan Kenobi's from Star Wars."

"Star what?" Clint says.

What was this blasphemy?

Tony narrows his eyes at Clint. "Are you seriously telling me you've never seen Star Wars?"

Clint wrinkles his nose and considers it. "I think. . . I think I saw m'dad flick past it on TV once?"

"You think?" Tony tests. He's not quite sure how far to question things with Clint's abusive dad now squatting disgustingly in the picture, so he settles for vague enough questions that Clint can gloss over certain parts if he wants to.

"Big yellow lettas?" The _r_ in _letters_ is completely missing. How Clint manages to do it without lapsing into an accent, Tony will likely never know. "All floating away, real slow."

"Yep, that's it." Tony racks his brain in an effort to remember if it's possible he read the name Obie Wan Kenobi off there. He doesn't think it is, so he assumes that Clint happened to catch a glimpse of a scene where Obie Wan's name is mentioned.

"It looked boring," Clint continues, making a face, completely oblivious to the poison daggers Tony's trying to hold back on shooting his way. "Lot'sa reading."

Well.

That was completely outrageous.

"I'm not standing for this," Tony announces, and scoops Clint up to carry him into the Avengers common room when he's a couple seconds too slow to start moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who's been here since the beginning: HOW??? I neglect fics for around nine months, and you're all still here? Dude.
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry for both the horrific wait and the equally horrific update garbage I just threw at you - I promise the next chapter will be up soon! Not, uh. Not nine months later.
> 
> Soon.
> 
> I'm gonna go write it now, actually. Booyah.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (Repeat: you're all goddamn saints.)

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, [this is my tumblr if you want it.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/total-master-of-geekiness)


End file.
